Just Enough Rope
by i'mpeckable
Summary: An unusual mission. The team settles into a team and Hannibal tries to convince Murdock to become their pilot. Chapter Nine in the "Vietnam Chronicles."


Summary: Percolation-as the A-team settles into being a team, and Hannibal attempts to convince Murdock to be their primary pilot. But, of course, nothing ever goes smoothly, and Face just has to be Face.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Last time I checked, the A-team wasn't mine. Darn! But I'm still allowed to play with them, as long as I put them back. Cass-of course-belongs to Avatar2, who is very congenial about letting him out of his cage. And the nutshell of Face's situation belongs to an earlier script of "Trial by Fire," written by Tom Bloomquist. I borrowed it because it was just SOOOO Face.

Spoilers: None - at least that I'm sure of.

Archive: Well, okay. But only if you promised to put it back.

Just Enough Rope

"Face, where're you off to?"

He turned to Brenner with a brief scowl of annoyance. He wasn't sure he liked the nickname, although it had stuck ever since Murdock assigned it to him. "The colonel gave us the night off," he said shortly, "and I've got a date."

Brenner looked at him in amusement, making him feel as though an older brother had just patted him on the head. _Not that he knew what it was like to have an older brother. But it had to feel like something like this. And Brenner'd been like this since the last mission-in fact, ever since the colonel insisted the two of them bunk together. _

"A date?" Brenner echoed, smiling, "Who?" The smile broadened. "A nurse?"

He started slightly, wondering if Ray had heard about the two at the airfield. Then, assuming his most innocent expression and shrugging, he said, "No."

Ray peered at him suspiciously. "Who, then?" He pulled a chair in front of the hooch's doorway, turned it, and settled himself in, effectively blocking Face's path. He waited expectantly.

The look of annoyance deepened. "If you really must know. . . ."

"I must." The look of expectance deepened accordingly.

Face's look turned into a glare. "General Horton's secretary," he said shortly.

Ray whistled, then grinned. "Taking her to the club?" he asked knowingly.

"No, as a matter of fact," Face retorted, stung into honesty, "Some place a little more private."

"Private?" Ray said in disbelief, "Here? You've got to be kidding!" He looked at Face suspiciously, then-with an air of finally-said, "You aren't bringing her _here_?" He folded his arms, waiting.

Face's glare turned into a grin. "No," he said, and waited for the next question.

Ray's suspicion turned to puzzlement. "Where, then?"

"The General's office," said Face, as if it were patently obvious.

Ray looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. "Are you nuts?"

"Hey, it's perfect," Face said, enjoying the shock value of the statement. "Horton's out of the area till tomorrow, and he brought all the creature comforts of home." He spread his hands, innocence personified. "Why not take advantage of it?"

"It's your ass in a sling," Ray retorted, "If Horton doesn't rip you one, Hannibal will."

Face smiled angelically. "I'll take my chances." Hooking a foot under the chair blocking his exit, he tipped it neatly to one side, spilling its occupant on the floor, and clearing his path to the doorway. He scooped a bundle from his bunk, tucked it under his arm, and waved his fingers at Ray. "Ta-ta."

break>

BA shifted in the driver's seat of the jeep, stifling a yawn. Yet another stray figure paused speculatively, intrigued by a senior sergeant apparently minding a jeep. Paused that is, until he was hurried along by a glare and a growl, accompanied by the subtle flex of shoulders. The mood emanating from the jeep was not friendly.

Minding a quarter-ton and playing driver was not what BA had in mind for the evening festivities. He scowled at the quonset hut where Morrison was holding his (_what did Hannibal call it?_) shin-ding for some visiting general, who was stopping in Vietnam long enough to "serve" in a combat area. And Morrison had decided it would be beneficial to his career to entertain said general, as formally as possible under the circumstances.

The sergeant snorted, this time with amusement. While Morrison had stopped short of demanding dress blues in a combat area, he had decreed that attendees would be in Class A's. Hannibal had been unable to locate his uniform tie, and requested to borrow BA's.

BA couldn't find his either. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember seeing it since he was stateside. Not that there was much of a call for neckties in Vietnam, anyway. And so they'd moved onto the hooch now shared by Ray and Face.

Ray's tie was also AWOL. Hannibal ended up borrowing one from Face, who hadn't exactly been happy about lending it.

Footsteps approached, interrupting his musings, but the pattern was off for a soldier. They paused, then a soft hiss sounded. BA sat up and glanced around. Every thing seemed in order, so he got out of the jeep and walked around, looking for the culprit. By the front passenger wheel, a scruffy, mixed-breed mongrel stood, leg raised in the classic position.

"Hey!" BA yelled, "Don't you be pissing on my jeep!"

It looked at him as if to say, _Just a minute-I'm busy_. BA moved forward, fist half-raised, hoping to scare it off. The dog lowered its leg, and moved away from the tire. It paused, stretched its forefeet out in front of itself, with rear raised and tail wagging. From that position, it yipped softly.

BA glanced around, then lowered his fist. "Ain't got nothin'," he said gruffly.

The dog sat up, cocked its head, and yipped again. It squirmed a bit, unable to both sit on and wag its tail at the same time, then looked up at BA pleadingly.

"G'wan," BA said, "Garbage's in back." The dog sniffed and barked twice, before trotting toward the back of the building.

At that moment, the front door of the quonset opened and closed. Hannibal headed toward the jeep, jacket unbuttoned. "Let's get outta here, BA," he said, settling into the passenger's seat. He tugged at the tie free, stuffed it into a pocket, and opened the shirt collar. He took off his saucer hat, tucking it by his feet.

BA joined him, starting up the quarter ton's engine. As they pulled away from the quonset, he commented, "Nice party?"

"Too nice," Hannibal grinned, "Morrison's trying to put on a black tie affair with Cheez-whiz and crackers." He shrugged. "But it's his career he's pushing."

"Hmph," BA grunted, "So why'd you go?"

"Connections, BA," Hannibal said, "I don't think this Horton character will be any use to us, but there were a few other people I needed to touch base with. Besides," he settled back into the seat, pulling out a cigar, "it doesn't hurt to be seen sometimes. And Face couldn't do this one." He lit the cigar.

"Aw, Hannibal," BA started, ready to complain about the smell of cheap cigar. But this one was different, sweeter and not as cloying as the stuff Hannibal usually got. He looked curiously at the colonel.

"Face got 'em for me," Hannibal said, noting BA's unasked question, "The kid's got good taste." He puffed thoughtfully for a few minutes, then added, "I want to talk to that chopper pilot who flew us the other day. The one Face looked up."

"Murdock?"

"Yeah, him." He took a deep drag on the cigar, causing the end to glow like a signal flare. "If we can arrange to get him and his crew on a regular basis. . . ." His voice trailed off, musing, and they drove in silence.

BA stopped the jeep in front of the colonel's hooch. "See if you can find this Murdock," Hannibal said, stepping out of the jeep. "I want to talk to him." He tugged at the door of the hooch, then added, "And find Ray and Face, too."

break>

_The chopper had set down roughly, settling just at the edge of rice paddy not far from Hau-Duc. Its pilot-not Murdock this time-screamed obscenities as it landed amid a heavy Charlie welcoming committee. He and Ray tumbled out of out of one side, while the colonel and BA exited the other. The muck of the rice paddy sucked at his boots, pulling him off-balance, and his helmet had rolled off to god-knows-where. _

_Brenner turned and gave him an exasperated smile. "Tie your shoes?" he had asked sarcastically, before handing Peck his own helmet._

_Peck returned the look. "Yes, Mother." He had seriously considered tossing Brenner's helmet off in the paddy to join his own. But the gesture would have been moot anyway, as the other lieutenant had already turned, racing toward the coordinates_ _where a squad was pinned down by enemy fire._

_Cover fire erupted behind him, precise patterns from the M-60 the colonel preferred, balanced with the sergeant's M-16. He followed Brenner, finding what little cover the paddy provided until they reached the trapped squad._

_Only six of the squad made it back to the chopper, each of them wounded. . . . _

"Templeton."

Giving himself a mental shake, he focused his attention on the woman in front of him. He gazed at the form-fitting dress she wore, appreciating how it clung to her body in a way that fatigues rarely did. _Yeah, but, fatigues fit like that on what-was-her-name? The nurse, over at the airstrip. Tina? Terri? Tess! Yeah, that was it! _And thinking about Tess reminded him of the other nurse. The one who had slapped him down with the French phrase he hadn't quite figured out yet, that little one with the dark hair. _Well, not that she was little. She just seemed that way, the fatigues made her seem like she was playing dress-up. Someone like that you wanted to. . . ._

"Templeton!"

He snapped his thoughts back to the present. _Julie_, he reminded himself, _her name is Julie_. And she was General Horton's secretary. Normally, generals who paraded through a war in hopes of getting a combat command designation ranked just below Charlie, at least in his regard. But this particular general-in addition to bringing his personal and very pretty secretary along-had brought many of the creature comforts of home with him. And Face-in his usual manner-had appropriated several of them.

She pouted at him as he fiddled with the dials on the transistor radio. "I still can't believe you're doing this."

He frowned slightly, puzzled by her comment. "I thought you liked champagne," he said. A station came in, a nice jazz one. He set the volume, and replaced the radio, then moved back to the makeshift couch where she sat.

She waved her hand about room. "Templeton, I'm talking about _this_. Of all the places to take me for our date . . . "

"Well, you _are_ General Horton's secretary, aren't you?" he asked, smoothing the front of the satin smoking jacket.

"Yes, but. . . ."

"And this is his office, isn't it?" he continued, handing her a glass of champagne, then picking up one for himself.

She smiled. "Not to mention his champagne and caviar."

Face shrugged. "What can I say?" he said, smiling disarmingly, "The man has remarkable taste in all categories." He paused, then added, "For a general." He raised his glass in salute, then drained it. "But enough about him," he said, reaching for the bottle. He poured another glassful and raised it. "Here's to you. The lovely and enticing Jenny. . . . "

"Julie."

"Julie," he corrected himself, then smiled disarmingly, "See? Didn't I tell you I needed some R & R? They say the memory's the second thing to go."

"Oh?" said Julie, brightly, snuggling under his arm. "What's the first thing?"

"Mmmm," said Face thoughtfully. He wrapped that arm around her, pulling her close as he set down the champagne glass. "Fortunately, we may not have to be too terribly concerned about that. . . ."

break>

BA walked into the pilots' ready room. A quick glance confirmed that his objective was not present. "I'm looking for Lieutenant Murdock."

Gathered around a card game, the pilots shrugged, exchanging amused glances amongst themselves. "Try the local bar" one offered. "He spends a lot of time there, especially after scaring his PP half to death." He eyed BA speculatively.

"Yeah," agreed another. "It usually takes at least three days to get them to stop shaking." He shook his head, then looked around the table at his compatriots. "Did you see his chopper today? Must've left half the damned thing out at the LZ."

BA was in no mood to hear about another flight. He was still amazed they had all made it back that last time. Scowling, he turned on his heel, and headed for the door. "Darn fools," he muttered. "Be crazy to fly anyhow."

He headed for the bar on the outskirts of town. The short walk didn't improve his mood.

"Don't need no pilot, especially that fool," he thought.

Upon reaching the ramshackle building, he pushed the door open and stood for moment allowing his eyes to adjust. It was a typical off-base bar, about half full. The air was stagnant with stale booze and sweaty bodies, and the requisite jukebox blared from one corner. Normally he had better places to be; this wasn't his style.

Ignoring the looks and whispered comments, he glanced around and spied a tall figure still in his flight suit slouched by a corner table. The lieutenant was alone, staring down the table with his hands wrapped loosely around a mug of beer.

BA crossed the floor to stand beside the table, scowling down anyone who caught his eye. Murdock sat unmoving. Lost in thought, he hadn't noticed the sergeant's approach.

"Murdock" BA started, then paused as Murdock lifted his head. A small child looked out of his eyes, lost in terrifying memories. BA suppressed a shiver._ Murdock had seemed so in control in the sky. _

Murdock stared at him-unseeing-for a long moment. Then he blinked. The cocky, self-assured pilot he had met earlier now looked back at him.

"Little problem with my chopper, if you're looking for another ride." Murdock said with a grin. "They told me three was my limit for a month." He took a quick swallow of his drink, spread his hands and shrugged. "Four, and they cancel my accounts."

BA scowled at him, ignoring the banter. "Colonel Smith wants t'see you." He could see trouble with this one already.

Murdock shrugged again, making no move to oblige. "Why?" he asked flatly.

"I tell you, won't be no reason to see the Colonel." The barest hint of a smile flickered, before a scowl swallowed it. "Now move. Ain't asking you again."

As if in dismissal, Murdock's gaze returned to his glass.

Patience exhausted, BA grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to his feet. Ignoring Murdock's protests and attempts to free himself, BA dragged the lieutenant out of the bar. The bar patrons watched-BA's temper was well known throughout the base-with varying degrees of amusement and amazement at his manhandling of a commissioned officer. However, no one seemed inclined to interfere.

Once out the door, BA headed in the direction of Hannibal's hooch. Murdock had stopped resisting and walked quietly alongside; hands shoved in the pockets of his flight suit. "Sure you aren't with the MP's?" Murdock muttered sullenly. "I don't recall signing up for Special Forces."

"Why'd MP's be looking for you?" BA questioned. _Him AND Face?_

"Never mind," was the quick reply.

"How you get in the Army anyhow?" BA asked, neither stopping nor releasing Murdock's arm. Hannibal wanted to see that fool of a pilot and BA had every intention of making sure he did.

"Drafted?" Murdock offered.

BA grunted in disbelief.

They walked on in silence; Murdock's eyes flickering nervously from BA to the path they walked, then back again. BA watched Murdock closely, but the lieutenant seemed resigned to accompanying him. As they approached Hannibal's hooch, BA released Murdock's arm. "In there" he gestured.

Murdock looked at BA. "You're not coming in?"

"Naw, don't need me" replied BA. Murdock stared at him for a moment, sighed and nodded. He entered the hooch.

BA shook his head and settled down to wait. He didn't need to stay, but he worried about the man. He wasn't sure why, but felt responsible for him, almost like a younger brother.

He didn't think he'd been dozing, but the shudder behind him brought him quickly upright, glaring into Ray's smiling face. Then, again, the lieutenant was entirely capable of shaking the hooch just to wake him. He scowled, and uncoiled himself from his position in time to see Hannibal and Murdock leave the hooch.

Ray whistled softly. "They don't look too happy," he commented.

"Naw." _In fact, they looked pissed off at each other. Highly pissed._ BA mentally kicked himself for falling asleep. Whatever conversation had passed between them was obviously . . . something.

Hannibal's face cleared first, as he caught sight of the two in the shadows. "Something on your mind, sergeant?" he asked.

"Jus' fell asleep," BA said gruffly, embarrassed to have been caught in that position.

Murdock's gaze swung toward them. Deep in his own thoughts, he hadn't noticed the others loitering outside the hooch. He frowned at them, then-like a shutter over a window-his visage cleared. Expectantly, he looked from them to Hannibal.

Hannibal shrugged, pointedly ignoring the look. He pulled another cigar from his pocket, and lit it. "Where's Face?" he asked.

"Dunno," said BA.

"Date," responded Ray.

The impromptu duet brought a brief smile both listeners. "A date?" echoed Hannibal.

"Yeah," said Ray, then grinned. "And get this," he added, "it's General Horton's secretary."

"Horton?" said Murdock, interested in spite of himself, "Isn't he the one who . . ."

"Yup," Hannibal answered, earning an annoyed look from the pilot. He turned to Ray. "And where has our bright young officer managed to take someone of that entourage? Certainly not the mess hall." He paused, puffing on the cigar. "The club?"

Ray shook his head, snickering. "The general's office. Horton's not expected back till tomorrow."

Hannibal raised one eyebrow. "Then the kid's got a problem," he said, "Horton's back tonight. He was at Morrison's soiree." He looked from BA to Ray, then added, "And he was not a happy camper, either."

Ray and BA looked at each other in concern, and Hannibal grinned in spite of himself. There was just something in their expressions, something dog-in-the-manger-ish. From the corner of his eye, he noted Murdock watching them too. He shot a look at the younger man, watching him intently. "Care to join us, Lieutenant?" he invited.

Murdock returned the look, and an odd smile crossed his face. "Sure," he said, "Why not?"

break>

They paused one building away, assessing the situation. The building in question was dark, but blackout shades could account for that. At any rate, it was a sign that General Horton hadn't gotten back yet. One in their favor.

"He's gone too for this time, Hannibal, " BA muttered, remembering the handful of non combat situations they'd pulled that lieutenant out of already. "They're gonna hang him for sure."

Ignoring Murdock's interested look, Hannibal commented. "If old man Horton gets to his office before we do, hanging is going to be the least of Face's problems." He paused, considering the situation, then added, "Okay, there's his jeep now."

The jeep slowed, then parked. A figure rushed up to it, coming to attention and snapping a smart salute. General Horton exited the vehicle and returned the salute. The other person relaxed slightly, and the two paused, apparently engaged in conversation. The driver remained in the jeep, but was obviously attentive to the conversation.

Hannibal watched the group thoughtfully. "We'll need some kind of distraction," he mused, "BA? Murdock?"

"Could blow up the jeep," BA suggested.

"Yeah," Ray chimed in, "He'd think Charlie was attacking."

Hannibal looked at them speculatively. "Not his jeep," he said, "Too risky."

"How 'bout that one?" Murdock said, indicating a second jeep parked yards from their position.

"Do it," Hannibal grinned.

BA and Murdock ran toward the indicated jeep. Tucked behind it, safe from casual view, they rechecked the general's position. Murdock removed the gas cap, then turned expectantly to BA.

"Damn," BA muttered, after a quick search of his pockets, "Need somethin' for a fuse."

Murdock looked at him, then the jeep, considering. Shrugging out of his field jacket, he calmly ripped off one sleeve of his flight suit, and handed it to BA.

His concentration on the general and company, BA absently took the sleeve. He fished a lighter from his pocket, and crept toward the jeep. He stuffed the sleeve into the opening, then touched the lighter to the sleeve. It flared briefly, then fizzled out.

BA glared at the sleeve and again put the lighter to it. The flame glowed briefly, settled into a glowing line, then died. He pulled the sleeve from the gas tank, reversed it, and lite the dripping end. Again, the flame died.

He studied it for a moment, then it dawned on him. _It's a flight suit, fool! And_ _Nomex ain't supposed t' burn! _His scowl deepened, and he glanced back at Murdock.

Murdock shrugged. He then looked pointedly at BA's shirt, and made ripping motions at his own missing sleeve. Astonished, BA glared back at him, then-lacking any other reasonable alternative-growled and ripped the sleeve from his fatigues. He replaced the flight suit sleeve with his own, and touched the lighter to its edge.

This time, it flared and caught, the flame growing brighter as it crept up the sleeve. They retreated a safe distance away and waited.

The sleeve burned slowly. Concerned that General Horton would finish his conversation before the flame hit the gas tank, BA turned to Murdock, intending to express just that. The mutilated flight suit caught his attention. "Man, they see you, they gonna know somethin' up," he growled, handing the man his own field jacket. Belatedly, he realized the flight suit's sleeve was still laying beside the jeep.

Murdock grinned. He tore the remaining sleeve from the flight suit, stuffing it in one of his pockets. "Naw," he drawled, "I'll just tell 'em Cass thought it was a grease rag," He pulled his field jacket over the remains of his outfit, and handed BA's field jacket back to him. Cocking an eyebrow at the sergeant, he asked, "And you?"

BA followed Murdock's gaze to his own shirt. Suspiciously, he looked back up at the man. The pilot smiled innocently. BA sighed and ripped the remaining sleeve from his fatigues, almost wishing he could do the same to the pilot. He scowled, realizing that-somehow-he'd been had, although he wasn't quite sure how. He pulled the field jacket over the mutilated remains of his shirt, jamming the sleeve into a pocket.

He opened his mouth to retort, but at that moment the flame finally hit the fumes from the tank. The blaze flared, then a resounding BOOM shook the area._ And that took care of the flight suit sleeve, _BA realized.

The general and his entourage hit the dirt. Once there, they cautiously glanced around, obviously expecting further mortar attacks at their position.

"C'mon," urged Murdock, "Let's get your extraction done." BA nodded, and they stole back to Horton's VIP hut.

break>

Hannibal grinned as the jeep went up in flames. "C'mon," he said to Ray, "That's our signal." They ran to the doorway of hut serving as Horton's temporary quarters and office. Pausing there momentarily, they were joined by BA and Murdock."Keep an eye on the front door," Hannibal told them. Then he and Ray burst through the door.

Face looked up in annoyance at their entrance. "Doesn't anybody knock anymore?" he complained.

The kid had _sang-froid_, Hannibal had to give him that. "We can discuss etiquette later, Lieutenant," he said, pointedly, "But since General Horton is back from Da Nang a day early, maybe we should discuss him first."

He noted with satisfaction as Face started, then shrugged off the announcement. The lieutenant rose, and finished removing the satin smoking jacket. He moved quickly about the office, collecting those items that could possibly identify him and rolling them into the jacket.

"He's WHAT?" The girl with him wasn't quite as calm. Fumbling her clothes together in panic, she glanced around the office, noting anew the opened champagne bottles, and other accouterments belonging to the general.

Murdock poked his head through the door, "Your man's on the move," he warned.

"He is?" The girl seemed more frantic.

Hannibal grinned, amused by the girl's panic. "We tried to stop him," he said, with a glance at the window. His grin faded. Giving Face a rather pointed look, he added, "Let's go, _Lieutenant._"

Face looked from him to Julie. He took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. "Perhaps we should take a raincheck on the rest of the evening?" he suggested, his gaze lingering on her disarray.

The gesture was not lost on her. In spite of the audience, she smiled and moved forward into his embrace, her panic momentarily forgotten in a long, slow kiss.

There was a noise from the watching group. Face dropped her hand, and tucked the jacket-wrapped bundle securely under his arm. He gave her one last smile, then turned to Hannibal and shrugged again. "War is hell

"That it is, Lieutenant," Hannibal agreed, then added sternly, "Move out. BA and Murdock are waiting for us."

They headed out, moving to avoid the general's entourage. Hannibal looked at Face one last time and added drily, "I hope you don't intend to carry on in this vein, Lieutenant. Or this could get old very fast."

FINI (for this chapter, anyway)

Author's apology

Sorry about the major gaposis between these last chapters. Due to an overabundance of precipitation in our home state this past summer, the basement in which my computer resides has spent more time being flooded (and in need of pumping/drying out), than it has dry and usable. And said computer has been off more often than on in order to protect it from an electrical catastrophe. I was also hit with a nasty computer virus, causing a complete reformat of the aforementioned computer (thank the #$&! who gave it to me, and a certain software giant's default settings) which ate into what computer time I could scrounge between floods. Since Avatar's internet access is via my computer, these events put both of us in a wee bit of a bind. And to top everything off, I've gone back to school full-time, on-line. Again, my apologies --_i'mpeckable_

Author's notes:

Class A's - green dress pants (with a black stripe on the outer seam for officers, plain for enlisted), green coat (a black stripe on the cuff for officers, plain for enlisted), white (then, gray-green now) shirt, and tie, black dress shoes (a.k.a. low quarters). Taking off the jacket nowadays turns Class A to Class B, but back then B's were the khaki shirt and pants. BTW-class C's are the fatigues.

Dress blues - Dark blue jacket with braid on cuff for (gold-bordered with center colour according to one's branch for officers, plain gold for enlisted) and with shoulder boards for officers (branch colour framed with gold and rank insignia in the center). Enlisted wear rank patches on their sleeves instead of shoulder boards. Lighter blue pants with a yellow stripe on the outer seam, white shirt, bow tie, and low quarters. Saucer hat with braid in same set-up as the cuffs. These are not issued. Each soldier buys his own set.


End file.
